


Relax, Slip Away

by five_ht



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-25
Updated: 2011-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:24:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/five_ht/pseuds/five_ht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fisting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relax, Slip Away

It's not something they do often, for various obvious reasons. It's impractical, it's time consuming. And besides that, doing it sparingly sort of means it's…

"It's _special_ ," Eames says one night, grinning like he has Arthur's number, and Arthur rolls his eyes, but fuck it, yeah, it's special. He wouldn't want to get used to it.

It's easier if do it after they've fucked. Arthur is already stretched, slicked with lube and with Eames' come, enough to make three fingers go in easy. Every part of Eames slots inside Arthur like he belongs there, his tongue and his cock and his whole fucking hand.

"Arthur," he says, a little breathless, stroking him inside, "Christ, Arthur, I can feel my come, you're so wet, love."

Arthur arches, nodding. He can feel it, too, the slick slide of Eames' fingers, the come leaking out of him as Eames opens him up again, filthy and perfect. He can't bite back the whine that escapes when the fingers leave, but Eames is just pouring out more lube, always cautious. Arthur feels himself trembling as he watches Eames coat his hand, which is big, and his wrist, which is _thick_ , and Arthur is always aware of these things, but they're never quite as relevant as they are when that hand is about to get shoved up his ass.

"All right?" Eames asks, coming back with four slippery fingers, dipping in with two, teasing.

"'M fine," Arthur says, tensing just a little when all four nudge inside, carefully, slowly. Eames knows when to push and when to wait, and he keeps moving, pressing in, past the second knuckles, where the stretch starts to really burn. He feels a kiss pressed to his stomach.

"That's good, that's perfect," Eames murmurs, and it's only then that Arthur realizes he's breathing in little gasps, his body practically vibrating.

"Don't stop," he forces out, and for once, Eames listens to him, keeping up the slow slide until it's so wide there _can't_ be much more. Arthur can't stop his hips from twitching, and suddenly all four of Eames' fingers are bumping against his prostate.

Arthur cries out, tensing all over, clenching on the fingers despite his best efforts to loosen, fuck, _fuck_ – they probably should have waited a little longer, because he's getting hard again but oh, oh, it hurts, it's too much too soon, but when he opens his mouth, it's not to say _no_ or _stop_ or even _slow down_ ; it's just a sob, that sound he can never control when Eames is taking him apart like this.

Words start to cut through the rush, quiet, hoarse words, "—fucking beautiful, darling, you can do it, relax for me, just let me in, you can take it—"

He feels Eames' free hand reach up and loosen his grip on the bedspread, letting Arthur clutch at him, and it feels like an anchor, and the words Eames is still whispering keep him grounded. He takes huge, gasping breaths, and he knows Eames can feel the moment he relaxes, because the stretch gets almost unbearable for just a few seconds, and then he's in.

It takes every ounce of willpower Arthur has to stop himself from squirming, to keep still and let Eames run the show, but it helps that he trusts Eames to know what feels good, how to keep him on the edge between overwhelmed and broken. Arthur feels every last twitch of Eames' hand, hyper-sensitive and overstimulated.

Eames doesn't have to move much, it's enough for Arthur to just feel this full, to feel Eames deeper than anyone else has ever been – it's enough to have him clutching hard at Eames' fingers, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open on a wail.

All it takes is Eames' lips brushing against his cock for him to break, nearly screaming as his orgasm rips through him. His muscles clench on Eames' hand, and it's painful but it's so, so good, and Eames knows how to hold him down, keep him still and keep him safe, as his head thrashes on the pillow and he spills more come onto the mess that's already on his belly.

He's still shaking when Eames starts to pull his hand out, and he has to bite back the altogether irrational urge to ask him to stay. It's an awful, empty feeling when he's gone. But the bed shifts, a tap runs, and Eames is back with a warm cloth and warmer words. The ache fades away as Eames gathers him up, a kiss to his temple all Arthur needs to drift into sleep.


End file.
